The Three Musketeers
by IfIWereANerd
Summary: Emma, Neal and August have a series of encounters during their youth and end up working as a team with full knowledge of Storybrooke and its inhabitants' true identities to break the curse and reunite with their families. Kind of like a Emma/Neal/August crime-fighting and mystery-solving prequel spin off. Slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

Emma tripped over the doormat as she was tossed out of the front door of her foster home, landing painfully on the palms of her hands. She angrily wiped away the brief tears that had risen into her eyes. Whether they were from the sharp stinging sensation on her hands or her foster mother's harsh words that followed her out the door, she was angry with herself for letting the pain get to her. It was a sign of weakness.

She righted herself and shoved her hands in to the pockets of her jean jacket as she bent her head against the blustery November wind and strode down the path across the front lawn. If you could call it a lawn – a bed of dead grass littered with empty bottles and cardboard boxes surrounded by a twist of chain link fence. Just beyond the boundary, she turned onto the sidewalk and jumped to see a stranger leaning against the hedge just outside her gate.

"Rough evening?" the boy asked, startling her. She hated to be startled. She liked to think of herself as having a keen awareness. That nothing could shock her. She dug her fists still further into her pockets and sidestepped the boy as he hadn't spoken. It was too much to hope that he wouldn't follow her. He jumped into stride beside her. He was about her age with brown hair that fell into his eyes. Maybe a year older, or two at most. She noticed that he, like she, was not dressed appropriately for the whether. His hands sat in the pockets of a thin hooded sweatshirt as he strode next to her, casting her a strange and intrigued smirk as he walked along side her, step for step.

"Do you mind?" she bit, stopping and turning to face him, her eyes fierce.

"Not at all," he said with a smug smile, pulling up with her.

"Stop following me," she articulated, turning to continue on her way. The boy did not heed her request.

"You didn't answer my question," he prodded.

"I don't talk to strangers," Emma mumbled, her breath fogging in the cold air. She could feel the prickle of winter on her skin as the wind blew through her jacket.

"Why, did your mother tell you not to?"

The way he said the word mother made her halt, staring coldly at the crack in the grey sidewalk in front of her. Once again the boy stopped with her.

"I know a kid in the system when I see one," the boy said. "Takes one to know one."

She cast him a sideways glance. She found a pair of sympathetic eyes returned it.

"I was hoping we could be friends?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. It was a natural reaction.

"I don't have a family," she spat. "Why would I need friends?"

"Exactly for that reason," he suggested simply, seemingly unphased by her severity. "I just got placed with a family the next town over. I'm coming from upstate New York. A lot of space up there, and good land, but also a lot of drunk people. My foster father included. So, after a brief stint back in the homes I got sent here. To Pennsylvania. Thought it might be warmer, but no, it's just as cold. There's just not as much snow. I always thought snow was the only thing that made the cold bearable. Almost charming."

Emma agreed. Her first family had been in Maine, and while she didn't remember much, she had always had a predilection for snow. Somehow it always made her feel at home, which is something she rarely ever felt.

"What was she on you about?" the stranger asked, nodding back towards the direct of her house.

"She just… doesn't like me," Emma said, looking back down at the pavement.

"Is there a reason?"

Emma drew a hesitant breath. She didn't know why she felt an inherent trust of this boy. She had never really felt trust for anyone. She wasn't sure if she should follow this strange, new instinct to trust him.

"She says she doesn't like the way her husband looks at me," she said finally. "She says that I ask for it. I told her she's got no prince charming there, but she's just jealous or something. Or insecure. I don't know. I don't really care, it's fine, I can handle it."

"Hm," the boy pondered, bringing his cupped hands up to his face and blowing warm air into them. "Can't say I've ever run into that particular issue."

"I wouldn't think you would."

"My new family seems alright, I guess," he shrugged. The pair had begun to walk again, but more slowly, more meandering. "But then again, they always seem alright in the beginning, right? Each time it's a new one, there's a new hope that it will be the one that lasts."

Emma new exactly what he meant. It was like he was speaking the words from her own heart. Breathing life into them.

"But at least they don't seem to care much where I'm at. They said that at my age I should be able to take care of myself, as long as I'm not in the way and I'm around with the social worker visits, I'm free to do whatever I like."

"How old are you?" Emma asked.

"How old are you?" he responded.

"I asked you first," Emma scowled. The boy smirked.

"I'm fifteen."

"You'll be out of the system soon then?" Emma reminded him, a tinge of jealousy seeping into her mind.

"With any luck," the boy nodded. "Now, how about you?"

"Thirteen," Emma said.

"Do you have a name?" the boy asked. Emma hesitated, but again her strangely intuitive trust for this boy prevailed.

"Emma," she said.

"Well, Emma," the boy said, sticking out his hand to shake. "Glad to know there is at least one other kid in the neighborhood who knows what it's like."

Emma eyed the hand before shaking. His hands were cold, but then again so were hers so they felt warm still. There was something strange, though comforting, in the way he was looking directly into her eyes.

He turned to leave down a side street.

"Hey!" Emma called angrily after him. "I gave you my name!"

The boy did not stop walking, but he did turn around to face her, continuing his steps backwards as he flashed her a mischievous smile.

"I'm Neal."

* * *

**I don't usually do AU stories, but I've always wished there was more history between Neal, Emma and August - the three abandoned children. So here's a slightly altered version of what could have happened from between when Neal returned from Neverland and Emma broke the curse. Let me know if you'd like to see more!**


	2. Chapter 2

Neal could feel Emma's eyes following him as he dug his path down the perpendicular street. He made sure to keep his pace steady and breezy until he was completely out of sight, ducking behind a side alleyway where an older boy awaited him. A light shading of young stubble decorated his chin as he pulled the collar of his leather jacket higher about his neck.

"So," Neal breathed, looking the older boy in the eye. "That's her?"

"That's her," the older boy confirmed. The pair retreated closer to the flimsy wooden wall beside them as the wind began to pick up, hollering threateningly through their abandoned alleyway.

"How do you know?" Neal asked.

"Broke into the records of the last group home I was in and found her trajectory. Before this it was Detroit, then Kansas."

"And she doesn't know?" Neal asked, changing a glance around the bend, but the blonde girl had vanished from the street corner on which he had left her. "... about where she came from?"

"No. I never told her. I was supposed to, but I ran away within a month of getting to the group home in Maine. Stole some money and jumped a bus with a group of older kids. I just couldn't stand it anymore."

"This American system is nothing compared to the British workhouses at the turn of the century," Neal said.

"I suppose you would know," August said, trying to masking his annoyance. he looked the boy up and down. He looked like an average fifteen year old, but August had to remember that the teenager standing in front of him was actually hundreds of years older than him. "But it felt bad enough compared to what I'd left behind. Remind me where you've been for the last few centuries again?"

Neal was looking back down the empty street again but August caught him role his eyes nonetheless. "It's a long story."

"Give me the short version."

"Neverland," Neal said simply, not altering his gaze. August blinked.

"Well, that is definitely the short version. You're not also Peter Pan, are you?"

Neal rounded on him with a harsh glare. "Why would you say that?"

"Nothing," August said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Just that some of the stories seem to get all jumbled and interconnected, I've discovered. At least the ones they tell in this land. Like how Rumpelstiltskin is also the beast from Beauty and the Beast."

Neal's eyes widened as he took a step closer. "My father is what, now?"

August nearly smacked himself in the face. He'd forgotten who he was talking to. Since their meeting, there had been a lot to catch Neal up on, and the sticky details had kind of slipped through the cracks.

"Well, he... Maurice's kingdom was... he made a deal with your... and then he and Belle... but it didn't turn out..."

Neal's eyebrows rose further up his forehead with each new detail as August stumbled through his words, until they were quite out of sight buried beneath his shaggy hair.

"Look, we can get into all that another time," August insisted. "What were you about to say to her?"

"I just planted the seed of a possible friendship," Neal said.

"And will it grow?"

"Without a doubt. In time."

"So, she'll help us?" August asked eagerly.

"Again, hopefully, in time. If we can get her to trust us enough to believe what we tell her when we tell her who she really is and what she needs to do to break the curse. Which we're not really sure what that is at this point anyways, but first things first."

"Right," August said, wringing his hands in the cold, one over the other, as his darting eyes grew distant. "First things first."

Neal looked up, and a speck of sympathy broke through his expression as he watched the older boy fidget. He placed a hand comfortingly on his arm.

"We'll get there, I promise."

"The Dark One said it would be on her twenty-eighth birthday," August reminded him despairingly. Neal remembered the detail he had shared earlier when he was explaining the whole situation. He shrugged.

"Maybe he was wrong," he offered. "Maybe we can break it before then."

"The Dark One has never been wrong."

"Not that you know of," Neal said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. August looked up at him with a surprised expression as he said this. "I promise, no matter how long it takes, we will get you back to your father."

"And you to yours?" August said. It was more of a question than a reassurance. He had been shocked at how Neal rarely talked about his father, how he had been before they had separated, how they had separated, or showed any kind of anticipation at the possibility of seeing him again. Even now, as he prodded, Neal's expression darkened as he looked away, back down the now empty street.

"I've very little interest in seeing my father," he said. August could see that that wasn't entirely true, but he let the matter slide. "To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure it's the right thing to break the curse and let him loose again. I'm not doing this so I can see him again."

"Then why are you doing this?"

Neal caught August's eye before looking back down the street. For a moment, he imagined he could still see the flash of her golden hair as she strode away. Back to her home of abuse and loneliness. He swallowed hard.

"For her," he muttered, almost to himself. "If what you've told me is true, she's never known her family because of me. Because of my father. I won't let her spend her entire life feeling like no one wanted her when it's not true. There are plenty of cases where it is true, but hers isn't one of them. So I'm going to set things right. I'm going to help her, help both of you, get back to your families."


	3. Chapter 3

The vendor flipped his hotdogs, the pungent fragrance of sodium and meat wafting from his stand. He placed his tongs to the side of the grill and looked up. He saw the familiar bouncing curls of the blonde girl who usually walked by this time of day. As always, she flashed him a sweet, gentle smile, and he grinned in return. However, today, she had not taken more than three steps past his stand when an older boy walking by her the other direction suddenly slipped her bag from her shoulder and took off down the street at a sprint.

"Hey!" the girl protested loudly, wheeling around, but the vagrant was already halfway down the block. He looked about eighteen years old.

The vendor jumped from behind his stand and leapt into action behind the criminal. The boy ducked into an alleyway.

"Stop, you thief!" the vendor yelled after him, puffing as he ran. "Get back here, you scum!"

But when he rounded the corner in pursuit, there was no one there. He stood for a moment, panting and bewildered. He muttered a few choice words and turned back, dejected. When he reached his stand, however, the young girl had already gone.

* * *

"I believe this belongs to you."

August dropped Emma's bag beside her where she sat on the concrete floor of the old abandoned warehouse they had taken as their hideout. Emma licked the hotdog residue off her fingers and dragged the bag into her lap as August shimmied his coat off his shoulders.

"Why do I always have to be the decoy?" she whined. "I could grab the grub just as well as Neal does, and we all know it."

"Because sympathetic vendors are much more likely to drop everything and jump to the aid of a sweet, distressed damsel than a mangy, fifteen-year-old bum," Neal offered as explanation.

"That's sexist," Emma grumbled.

"Maybe," Neal shrugged, taking another bite of his own hotdog. "But it's still true."

"Well, at least I wouldn't have forgotten the mustard."

"What, no mustard?!" August pouted as he joined them on the cold cement floor. "Oh well, still looks like a pretty good spread. Thanks for waiting, by the way."

He glared pointedly at Emma, who already had half of her second hotdog shoved in her mouth. She spared him a guilty blink before she continued munching at full pace.

"Hey, give me a break, this is the first thing I've had to eat since Friday."

Neal lowered his hotdog away from his mouth, gaping at her.

"Why haven't you eaten since Friday?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "Doesn't your family feed you?"

"No food in the house," Emma said, shaking her head. "I don't expect that to change until Roger gets a job."

"I thought your foster dad worked the night shift at the plant," August asked

"He got canned last week," Emma said, barely stopping to breathe as she dove into her third hotdog. "Drinking on the job. Third citation."

Emma was too engrossed in her food to see the concerned glance that Neal and August shared across their makeshift dinner table.

"So he's just, what," Neal asked hesitantly, "hanging out at home now?"

"Pretty much," Emma said, shrugging. "He doesn't have that much incentive to get another job. I mean, the support payments he gets for me and the unemployment package just about cover his weekly liquor bill, so he's all set for a while."

"Well, I'll keep an ear out for if there are any openings here at the warehouse," August offered, readjusting himself. Emma looked at him with her cheeks full.

"Why do you care?"

"If the system finds out Roger's unemployed, then her doesn't qualify as a foster parents anymore," August said. "You would get sent to another home and we wouldn't be near each other anymore. The three of us wouldn't be able to get together."

"Aw," Emma said, swallowing and tilting her head in dramatic nostalgia. "Would you boys miss me?"

"Yes."

It came from Neal's mouth, and he was not smiling. The gravity and somber sincerity of it slid the sarcastic, defensive smile right off of Emma's face as she turned to look at him. He caught her eyes, and she could tell he didn't appreciate her joking about such things. She swallowed, regretting her attitude. The trio sat in a morose silence for a few moments.

Emma swallowed hard. She had never really had friends like Neal and August. She had never really had friends at all, if she were being perfectly honest. It had been a few months - had it been nearly half a year now? - since Neal had first surprised Emma at the gate outside her house. The next weekend he had introduced her to his friend, August, of whom Emma had immediately been skeptical. Not just because she was immediately untrusting of everyone she met, but also because she couldn't understand why a boy who was official an adult and in charge of his own life, who had already turned eighteen, would still be hanging around with kids in the system. If it were her, she would have booked it long ago instead of sticking around and working at the loading deck as August did.

But for whatever reason August had found himself working in Harrisburg, Emma somehow got the feeling that he was staying there for her. To stay near her and be her friend. She got this feeling from both him and Neal. After all, while Neal was still in the system, his family never gave a crap about where he was. He had his own job too moving boxes at a department store, and half the nights out of the week he ended up just sleeping at August's place, or rather the corner of the warehouse that the manager had allowed August to carve out for himself. Neither of them really had anything tying them here, except Emma. And while Emma could not for the life of her figure out what it was about her that made these two want to stay by her side, especially since everyone she had ever met before them had discarded her so easily, over the past six months Emma had grown to trust that they would always be around.

"Well," Emma started, trying to gain some of the lightness back in the conversation, "my case officer quit and the new one will probably need a couple of months to settle in before she makes it all the way out here to check up on me, so he's got some time, anyways. In the meantime, my curfew is now much more strict since he's been around to enforce it, so I really should be going."

She unfolded herself and patted the dust from the floor out of her pants. August and Neal rose with her.

"Let me walk you home," Neal offered.

"I'll be fine."

"It's getting dark," he insisted.

"Neal, it's really better if you don't."

She caught his eye meaningfully. Neal knew why. Emma's foster father did not like Neal. He did not like how often he saw him with Emma. Often, when he had dropped Emma off at home and Roger had been there, he had given her a stern face as she walked inside, and from outside the gate Neal could still hear the names he called her as he followed her into the house, slamming the door behind them. It bugged him, but it was true that Neal would not be doing Emma any favors by walking her home.

Emma slid her jacket on and then swung her back over her shoulder.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for the hotdogs."

"Thank _you_, fair damsel," Neal mocked. Emma pointed a stern finger in his face.

"Watch it with that damsel crap," she threatened with a scowl. Neal smiled.

In the echoing wake of Emma's exit as the heavy metal door rang into place, Neal and August sat in silence. Neither wanted to say what was on both their minds. They didn't want to bring voice to the concerns that had been growing in their hearts for a few months now. Since they had met Emma, really. Because giving them voice would acknowledge their existence, and their truth. And if they were true, they would need to do something about it. And if they did something about it, then Emma would be gone.

"Well," August tried hesitantly. "That's a... development."

"Not a welcome one," Neal said darkly.

"Maybe we can find him another job."

"And what will that change?" Neal challenged, getting heated. "He'll still be a jerk."

"Look, I know it's not ideal..." August started.

"Ideal?" Neal rounded on him. "You've never seen the way he looks at her, August." After Emma's foster father's reaction to Neal, they had decided that August should never be around her house. They could only imagine the wrath an eighteen year old boy hanging out with Emma would incur in Roger.

"You think we should do something about it?" August asked, completely genuinely. "Tell someone?"

At that, Neal paused. He knew what it would mean if they reported what they knew to the police. Emma would be removed from the home and placed somewhere else.

"I just... I don't want..." he looked up somewhat helplessly at August. "If something happens to her and we didn't stop it..." He didn't have to finish his sentence for August to feel the guilt in his gut.

"Look, so far, so good, right?" August offered in hopes of quelling Neal's concern, and his own. "If she gets placed in another home, we may never track her down again."

"If we told her what she needs to know, then she would know to try and find us again," Neal offered.

August sighed. And they were back to this argument. Neal wanted to tell Emma her origins and her destiny. August did not. Not yet.

"She's not ready," he argued. "She won't believe us, and if she doesn't believe us the first time around, she will lose the trust that we've built up in her. Once she labels us as crazy, it's all over. We'll never get her to believe. She needs more time, and we need more evidence. More of a game plan of how to break the curse."

"Got anything on that, by the way?" Neal asked, a bit frustrated. August shook his head, looking down at his hands.

"Not yet."

Neal and August stood in a frustrated silence. None of this was going the way they hoped. The only light had been Emma's presence in their life. With her, they had formed a strange kind of brotherhood. A family. Neal specifically had been surprised to find that despite Emma's hectic upbringing and harsh manner, he was really quite taken with her. He couldn't believe that after all she had been through, she could still laugh the way she did, still soldier on, still have the faith in herself to get herself through to the other side of things. But, he supposed sadly, she had probably never had anyone else to have any faith in except herself. Neal so badly wanted to be there for her. At this point in time, what he was struggling with was how exactly he should do that. Which decision was the most supportive of her?

"Look, let's sleep on it," August suggested. "You going back tonight?"

Neal stretched and yawned.

"Nah. I think I'll crash here. It's getting cold out, and there's food here anyway."

So the two boys settled in for the night, August in a makeshift hammock he had constructed for himself in the corner with a couple of boxes and an old blanket, and Neal on the ground with a bedding of newspaper clippings, foam pellets and bubble wrap littered around him. They half-heartedly discussed theories for where their parents might be in the world and how they could find them until they fell into an uneasy silence, and eventually, into sleep.

* * *

The first bang on the door did not rouse Neal from his sleep, but it was enough to fell August from his delicately balanced hammock. He landed on the paved ground with a grunt. The commotion jostled Neal blearily awake.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" Neal asked, forgetting to shave his British vocabulary so early in the morning.

August only grunted again in response. He was not one for being woken up. Usually he didn't say anything for at least for the first hour in the morning except to grunt hello and yes, I want breakfast. He tripped his way over to the door and rubbed his hands over his face as a second knock banged loudly.

"What time is it?" Neal pondered, annoyed. Again, August merely grunted a response as he swung the door open.

Bathed in the yellow outside light was a shivering Emma, her eyes wide and trying to look hard. There was a deep gash on the side of her forehead. The skin around it was turning black and blue and purple as a thin stream of red blood found it's way into her golden hair and down the side of her face. She looked up at August. He blinked down at her, at first too shocked to say anything.

"Emma...?" he stammered. The name jolted Neal from his sleeping place. He rushed to join at the door, and felt his throat constrict at the sight of her, his eyes immediately falling on her injuries. Emma sniffed, eyeing the two boys. Her voice shook as she spoke, quiet with the cold of the night.

"Can I stay here tonight?"


	4. Chapter 4

"What happened?"

Neal was trying to keep the rage out of his voice for fear that Emma might sense it and think it was directed towards her, when nothing could be farther from the truth. Emma sat beside him, her face bathed in light and shadow as the fire they had rekindled flickered across it. Her shoulders drooped self-protectively, draped in a makeshift blanket of newspaper. Her shivering had diminished in the heat of the fire, but a subtle layer of trembling persisted that Neal knew had nothing to do with cold.

He reached out towards her. In all truth, he wanted to wrap her in his arms, but even this soft movement towards her made her wince, and he pulled back.

"Did he try anything?"

"What does it matter?" Emma retorted, her face hard. Neal's eyes left her face and flickered to the flames, but they couldn't stay away.

"Emma…"

"Don't," she spat. "I don't need your pity. I just need a place to stay until he cools off." She repositioned herself defensively, and immediately took in a sharp breath and brought her hand to her side, hissing in pain. Neal realized that while the gash on her temple might be the most visible injury, it might not be the only one, or even the most concerning.

"We need to get you out of that house," Neal said as August came to kneel beside Emma, a tissue and a bottle of hand-sanitizer in his hands.

"No!" Emma insisted loudly, wincing as he blotted the disinfectant on the tissue and padded her wound.

"Emma, if it's this bad..." August started.

"I'm fine!" she insisted.

"Fine?" Neal argued. "For all we know, your ribs could be broken."

"They'll heal," Emma hiccuped. "You start involving the cops, and who knows where I'll be placed next? We'll be separated and I'll never see you guys again."

"Maybe they can find you another family nearby," August offered weakly, though the three of them knew it was unlikely at best.

"I don't want another family," Emma cried fiercely. "I want _my _family."

The trio sat in silence in the wake of the confession as Emma gave a little sniff, the residue of the emotion she had not been able to contain. Neal and August looked at each other over the cowering girl, because they knew that what she said was even more true than she had known. Not only would her being sent away stop the three of them from being together, but they were Emma's only chance of finding her actual family, the one she didn't even know she had.

Emma cleared her throat and sniffed a few more times until she felt her emotions come back under her control. A stubborn and resolute expression slid onto her face, hardening with her resolve.

"It's just a few more years," she said. "I can handle a few more years."

"Can you?" August asked gingerly.

Emma did not respond. She merely stared at the dancing flames in front of her. Neal crept closer to her slowly for fear she could continue to lash out.

"You shouldn't have to handle it, Emma," he cooed softly. "It's not worth it - we're not worth it - if staying means you will continue to get hurt."

"I'll be more careful," she promised dryly, almost as if she were just speaking to herself. Swearing a personal oath. "I'll make my curfew and I'll do whatever he wants and I won't give him anymore reason to get angry, and then I won't get hurt."

"That's not how these things work," August tried, but Emma cut him off.

"Decision made," she said. "We're not telling anyone. Promise?" August and Neal shared a skeptical look, this time one that Emma saw because she was looking from one of them to the other. "Promise?" she repeated forcefully.

"Promise," Neal agreed solemnly, and that was the moment her realized that he would never be able to deny her anything she wanted.

"Promise," August echoed, taking Neal's lead.

"Good," Emma said, turning back to stare into the fire. "Now go to sleep. It's late."

But none of the three of them moved. They each sat in a disturbed silence through the rest of the night until the fluorescent lights buzzed on in the morning, signaling that the first of the workers were arriving for their shift. At that time, August packed his belongings away, and Emma and Neal snuck out the back.

Months passed, and while the bruises continued to pop up every once in a while, they were few and far enough between to keep Neal and August's protests at bay for the most part. Perhaps this was because Emma always wore long pants and long sleeve shirts, even as summer progressed into its hottest months. But Neal couldn't bring himself to bring up the unpleasantness, so he just watched warily from afar, a curling sensation settling in his stomach every time she said good bye for the night.

The trio passed the summer, and then the fall, in a state of routine familiarity with each other. When each was not working or in school, they were always together, eating stolen apples under the freeway, taking long meandering walks up and down the abandoned railroad tracks, threatening to push each other in front whenever a train came by.

Emma turned fourteen, and Neal breathed a sigh of relief to know she was one year closer to leaving the system. They scratched together a makeshift birthday cake from a box of half eaten donuts they had stolen from the cops themselves, and lit the ends of twigs with August's lighter, the tips of which they had wrapped in newspaper so the flame would have enough time to catch. As they burned, they filled the warehouse with a faint aroma of soot and autumn as September drew to a close.

When Neal saw Emma smile as she dipped her finger in the pink icing and painted it onto Neal's nose, he realized that he would do anything just to see her smile. The thought took him off guard, and even scared him a bit as the frosting fight ensued. What had begun as a completely honor-driven mission to reunite a complete stranger with the family she'd never had, had grown into to something he had not let himself experience since Wendy Darling, and only for a very fleeting moment, even then. The idea terrified him. That he might lose her. That they might lose each other. That he might somehow stand in the way of her fulfilling her destiny. And if push did come to shove, would he have the will power to step aside and let her do what needed to be done?

But he was getting ahead of himself, he sighed in his own mind as the leaves began to change and fall. Breaking the curse was years away. She was still in the system for quite some time. Again he began to wish he had a warmer jacket as his breath became increasingly visible in the cold winter air. He started spending less and less time at August's warehouse, because at least there was heat at his home, and it gave him the opportunity to walk Emma home, despite how her foster father hated it.

One day the temperature dropped below freezing and as they walked Emma blew warm air into her balled up hands, until Neal reached out and took her hand in his and put it in his coat pocket. She caught his eye as he did this, and then very quickly looked down at the sidewalk. Neal saw she was blushing deeply, and he let his breath out from his daring. He laughed at himself inside his head. He had definitely faced much more fearsome foes that awkward teenage romance while in Neverland, but somehow this still seemed the most daunting and courageous task. Emma drew that kind of power. He watched her flush still deeper when they arrived outside her gate and he slid her hand from his pocket and placed a delicate, gentlemanly kiss on her knuckles, like the princess she was. Despite her scoff, she even chanced a glance backwards over her shoulder at him as she walked down her front path.

Yes, breaking the curse was years away, he assured himself as he grinned at the sidewalk before continuing to walk towards his own house. Years away. They had all the time in the world.

Little did he know that that night would be the last night Emma Swan spent in the foster system. From inside the house, her foster father stood looking out the window. His scowl deepened as he let the curtain slide back into place, the sound of the front door closing in the other room.


	5. Chapter 5

"August. August!"

"Who's there?"

"It's me."

"Neal?"

"Yeah, open up."

"Do you have any idea what time it is? Is the sun even up yet?"

"August, just open the damn door!"

August cranked the metal door open. Neal stood bathed in the flourescent outdoor light. In his arms lay a battered, shivering, semi-conscious Emma Swan. She was wrapped in his jacket. Her face was drained of all color and her lips were blue. If it weren't for their incessant chattering, August would have feared Emma was not alive at all.

"Oh my God," August whispered, gaping.

"She's hypothermic," Neal stuttered through his own chattering teeth as he stepped through the threshold.

"What happened?"

"We need to get a fire going," Neal said, avoiding the question as he made his way further into the room. "Get her temperature back up."

"What the hell happened?" August repeated fiercely, coming up behind him and assisting him in lowering her body gently to the floor. Her skin felt like ice and he could see her breathing was shallow and constricted.

"I found her like this," Neal said, not looking him in the eye, his breath short as he shot around the room gathering flammable materials and making sure to grab the gasoline tank as he passed. "I couldn't sleep, and so I decided to check on her... we had a moment, earlier this evening, and I thought... I just wanted to make sure she was alright, and I found her like this tossed in between the garbage bins outside her house."

"Was she out there all night?" August asked. "It's below freezing!"

"I don't know, all I know is I found her there this morning. I brought her straight here."

"We need to call an ambulance," August huffed, allowing the door the swing shut behind his visitors as he followed Neal further into the room. He lay Emma down on a few unassembled cardboard boxes.

"No," Neal said stubbornly. "The hospital will call the cops, and the cops will call Child Services, and she'll be sent away." He was busying himself starting the fire, almost as if he was trying not to look at Emma's frozen body. "If she gets sent somewhere else, we can't protect her."

"We're not protecting her now!" August said exasperatedly. "Neal, look at her!"

Neal did not obey, but he did halt his incessant activity for a moment, a wave of guilt wafting over his face. August sat beside the shivering Emma and took her hand in his for lack of anything else to do.

"What if they send her to a family that's worse?" Neal asked from over his shoulder, still unable to look at her fully. "And we're not there to do anything about it."

"Because we're doing so much about it now," August scolded sarcastically. "You said it yourself, if something happens to her and we didn't do anything to stop it, we'll never be able to forgive ourselves."

"We can't lose track of her. Not now."

"So you want to send her back to him?" August challenged.

"Of course not!" Neal barked, the very notion terrifying him so that he felt a physical flare of adrenaline and anger in the pit of his stomach. "Never again."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"Maybe there's a third option," Neal offered quietly, as if speaking to himself, hesitant to even hope.

"Like what?" August grunted skeptically. Neal looked up and caught his eye meaningfully.

"We run away."

The suggestion was met with a tense silence as what Neal meant to happen tonight finally dawned on August.

"Out of the question," he retorted.

"Why?"

"I've done the running thing, remember?" August reminded him. "I've been down that road and let me tell you it's not as glamorous as it seems from this side of things. Forget the fact that winter's just beginning and we'd have absolutely no money to keep her, or ourselves, fed or keep a roof over our heads. Forget that part. She gets caught, and she doesn't just go back in the system. She get's labelled as an 'uncooperative' child. No one takes in 'uncooperative' children, you know that. She spend the rest of her time in whichever group home has room, and they won't let her out when she's sixteen. She'll have to stay in until she's eighteen."

"So we don't get caught," Neal said confidently.

"It's not that simple," August implored him. "This isn't the Enchanted Forest or Neverland where all the pursuers have to work with are bows and arrows and their own wits. Here, they track bank accounts and follow acquaintances and leads and use satellites and cell-phones and all sorts of gadgets. Can you out smart those things? Can you? Because I couldn't."

"We just need to evade them long enough to get to where our families are. I'm sure we'll be safe there."

"We don't even know where that is!" August seethed. "You're willing to risk her life and her freedom, and your own, on that kind of a whim?"

"Do you have a better option?"

Neal glared at August with genuine curiosity, challenging him, begging him even for some better way out of their current situation. They both knew that sending Emma back into that house was not an option. But, with their combined experience, they also both knew that the likelihood that, should the system relocate her, she would end up in a similar situation, or worse, was all too high, and they would not be able to do a thing about it. Not to mention the fact that their plan to break the curse would be thwarted beyond repair.

"Fine," August sighed. "We'll leave at first light. Hop the 6:18 freight train to Philadelphia, and be miles away before anyone realizes we're missing."

Neal nodded slowly as August recounted the plan, then very suddenly he stood, wiping the dirt from his hands on the seat of his pants.

"I'll be back before sunrise," he said. "Keep an eye on her while I'm gone."

"Where are you going?" August asked, perplexed by his sudden move for departure. Without looking back at him, Neal responded in a quiet voice as the door shut behind him.

"There's something I need to get."

* * *

Neal did not find it difficult to jimmy open the bedroom window from the outside or slide his way in. Thank goodness it was a one-story house. He also did not find it difficult to located what he was looking for. She only had one item of any value, and it sat bunched up at the foot of her small bed. What was difficult was keeping himself from turning around and punching the man in the face when his voice appeared, along with the stench of stale whiskey, in the doorway behind him as he lifted the white blanket with purple lettering.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?"

Neal's skin crawled, and he was surprised to find that the anger coursing through his veins far outweighed the fear. He took a stabilizing breath. He was here for this. For Emma's blanket. He was not here for him. Very calmly, he turned to face her foster father, clad in a stained wife-beater and worn pajama bottoms that looked like they hadn't left his body and weeks. He did not deign to respond, he merely looked him up and down slowly, then turned to the window again.

"Where's that little whore?" the man spat.

Neal froze with his hands on the window sill, unable to contain his rage. He saw his knuckles turn white before his eyes as they clenched the wooden beam. Then a thought occurred to him. Perhaps he could ensure that she was not followed. He turned slowly to face him again.

"You don't know?" he asked somberly, trying to keep his voice steady and convincing. "I found her out here this morning, just outside this house. Dead. Frozen. Hypothermia."

Fear flickered across his face at the idea that he might be responsible for the death of a young girl. Should anyone find out, he would most definitely be tried and charged with homicide. But either the idea was too terrible for him to bear or Neal was unable to keep his poker face, because the fear was replaced in an instant by vicious skepticism.

"Liar," he spat. Neal didn't bother to persist with the ruse.

"Well, she would have been if I hadn't found her, so what's it to you?"

"I'm responsible for her," the man replied, and if Neal hadn't been concentrating so hard on not tackling him to the ground at that very moment, he would have laughed outright at the injustice of it.

"Not anymore, you're not."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Neal stepped towards the man so they were face to face, and found that somehow he was taller. Perhaps he had grown. He hadn't grown in hundreds of years, but he was back in a land where he was aging, so it followed that he would continue to grow as well. In any event, fear fled him as he pierced this despicable man with all the fury and hatred he had in him, causing the drunkard to falter.

"It means," Neal whispered viciously, "that if you ever touch her again, I swear to God I will not be held responsible for what I do to you."

The man stood motionless, looking pathetic in his pajama bottoms and stained wife-beater as he cowered under Neal's glare. Neal was not aware he had such rage in him. For a moment, he understood more than he ever had the things his father had done to protect him as a boy, now that he himself had someone to protect. Then, he turned and fled quickly and lightly from the room, the white blanket trailing after him out the window and into the cold morning.

* * *

Emma woke to the subtle thumping of a low rumbling sensation underneath her. She ached everywhere and shuddered a cold breath as she tried to piece together where she was and what had happened. She remember closing the door after Neal had kissed her hand. She remembered being frozen to the spot at the fury she saw etched into her foster father's face. She remembers a fist and a belt and from somewhere a bat or a pipe... no, a bottle. It was a bottle, because she suddenly drearily recalled the sound it had made when it shattered against her head.

She vaguely remembered colliding painfully with the garbage can lids. Hazily she had heard an anxious voice from a gentle shadow that appeared above her, muttering something about finding her and she felt herself lifted from the ground. Though she couldn't be sure it was a real person or an angel come to take her on.

None of these semi-memories explained where she was right now. As she opened her eyes, she saw it was daylight. Above her face was Neal's, staring straight ahead with a dark hardness in it. She realized that she was lying with her head in his lap. She attempted to sit up straight, and the movement jarred Neal from his stupor. He leaned forward.

"Emma," he cooed, relief flooding his face.

"How are you feeling?" came another voice, and Emma looked up to find August just at her side.

"What happened?" she groaned.

"You were..." August began uncertainly, but Neal cut him off.

"I found you," he said gently. "You're alright, you're safe now. Everything's going to be alright."

"Where are we?" Emma blinked away her grogginess and her pain as she sat up still further. "What's going on?"

"Neal, this is it," August muttered. "We're here, we need to get off now or we'll get caught by the monitors on the way into the station."

"Emma," Neal said, address the bewildered girl again and taking her shoulders firmly in his warm hands. "Do you trust me?"

Emma looked up into his eyes and was both elated and terrified by her almost involuntary response.

"Yes," she breathed.

"Good," Neal said, tightening his grip and pulling her shakily to her feet and towards an open doorway. Outside, the world was flying by very quickly. "Then jump!"


	6. Chapter 6

Philadelphia was no warmer than Harrisburg, but it was a lot larger, and therefore much easier for the teenagers to lose themselves. No one came searching for them, and after about a week they all began to calm down and settle into their new life on the run. The trio ruled out the idea of going to shelter right away for two reasons. Firstly, shelters were segregated by gender, and so Emma, Neal and August would have to split up. Secondly, a shelter would no doubt require their names and ages, and as soon as they found out Emma was still a minor, they would contact Child Services.

Still, life had definitely been worse. Emma did not ask questions about the decision Neal and August made for her to run away from the system. While she liked to put on the brave face of being able to take care of herself, the events of that evening proved her wrong. None of them approached the subject again. It was as if a veil had been drawn over the whole endeavor, and the only time it was acceptable to admit it had even happened was when they had to face the consequences – that is, the fact that the three of them were now on the run and responsible for each other.

When Neal and August finally explained to Emma that they had left, had run away for good, her first instinct was relief, very quickly followed by a dreading sadness. She had left her blanket in her house. The one thing she had from her parents, a sign of care that she had always held on to as proof that they in fact had loved her, cared enough to make it for her. There was no going back for it. She was miles away, and going back would mean risking her own safety as well as that of Neal and August, which of course she couldn't do, but even still she was sad that it was gone.

"Are you alright with this?" August asked her when he saw this darkness slide onto her face as they explained the situation. "I mean, it is ok with you that we just…"

"No, it's ok," Emma said. "I mean, thank you, it was the right thing to do. It's just… I left something important at my house, that's all."

"You mean this?" Neal asked, pulling from his beaten sack a soft white blanket. Emma blinked, stunned, and then broke into a huge grin, which caused Neal to grin in return as she lunged for the keepsake and gathered it in her arms.

"How did you…?" She buried her face in the soft fabric and breathed in deeply. Even after fourteen years, so always told herself that she could small her parents in the threads. She looked at Neal. "Did you go back for this?"

"No," Neal lied poorly. Emma shot him a disbelieving smirk.

"So, what, a bird picked it up and flew it here?"

"Don't ask questions," Neal reprimanded her, his cheeks flushing. "Just put it somewhere safe."

In fact, more often than not, Emma kept the blanket around her shoulders as added protection against the cold. The frost did not subside, and especially in the evenings when the sun would go down, the cold became bone-chilling. As November rolled into December, they put together a list of bars and pubs that were open late, and would spend the evenings curled up in the corners until last call, when they would walk through the streets for the rest of the night, keeping themselves warm with the movement until the sun came out and made it warm enough for them lie down and get a few hours of sleep under the nearest freeway pass.

One evening, having scraped some change from the street during the day, August left Neal and Emma in a booth in the corner of one of their usual pubs to order a round of sodas. While he was waiting at the bar, he heard a voice from over his shoulder.

"Buy you a drink?"

August turned around and blinked. A woman was standing next to him. A very beautiful woman. She flashed him a bright smile as she began to take the seat next to him.

"Oh - um..." August faltered, his eyes darting back to the booth where Emma and Neal were sitting. "I don't... I mean, I'm not really..."

"Take it easy," the woman said. "I didn't mean like that. I have a boyfriend. I just meant, you look like you could use a drink."

August looked back at the woman in front of him. She had a kind face. She looked only a couple years older than him, although she exuded a mature confidence that made her seem older. He shrugged, and finally smiled back.

"Sure," he said. "What the heck."

* * *

"August found a new friend," Neal snickered as his eyes flickered over to August at the bar, chatting to a stunning woman.

"He looks like he has no idea what he is doing," Emma chuckled.

"Completely out of his league," Neal agreed. "Shall we rescue him?"

"Let him be," Emma scolded kindly. "When does he get the chance to be a normal teenager?"

"When do any of us?" Neal asked off-handedly, then blushed as an awkward silence ensued. He hadn't meant anything by it, of course. There had been no time or energy for Neal and Emma to pursue what had happened before 'the incident' since they had left Harrisburg. Neal had been avoiding the idea, and Emma had followed his lead. On some level, Neal had felt that his actions before had led to Emma's foster father's violence. The guilt was eating him alive that his selfish actions regarding Emma might have completely jeopardized her life and her possibility for happiness. He couldn't allow himself to do that again. Emma had to get back to her family, and any other priority on his part would be a distraction from that goal.

Luckily, a complete stranger decided at that moment to slide into their booth and join them, quite spontaneously, breaking the tension. He looked in his mid twenties, and as if he had already had a fair few drinks.

"You two look a bit young to be in bar," the man said, although his tone was pleasant, not accusatory.

"We're not drinking," Neal assured him. "Our brother just... has a twisted definition of the term 'babysitting'." He nodded at August up at the bar. "Dragged us out here."

"I even have a paper for school due tomorrow," Emma added, trying to contribute to the authenticity of the lie. What kinds of things would typical fourteen-year-olds have to do on school night? "Some supportive big brother we've got there."

"Hey now, don't be too hard on your brother," the man scolded in a friendly manner. "He probably just wants to share some special time with his family. You should appreciate that. Not everyone has family around to spend time with them."

Emma scowled, catching Neal's eye. It sounded like they had run into a man whose experience was not unlike their own. They remained silent, but then man went on of his own accord.

"I lost my parents when I was young."

Both Neal's and Emma's hearts broke for him.

"I'm so sorry," Neal comfortingly. "How did they die?"

"My mother got sick," he told them. "Cancer. Died within the year of being diagnosed. I was ten. And my dad... well, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Not unless you believe in magic."

Emma laughed, but Neal only swallowed. Boy did he believe in magic. How he wished he didn't.

"Try us," he said.

* * *

August's mind was swimming pleasantly. He couldn't remember the last time he had had a drink. There had been times throughout his childhood when he had had access to liquor, and had taken full advantage alongside a number of other kids from the system. He remembered a particular night in a group home when they snuck into the neighborhood liquor store and finished off an entire handle vodka in one night, no chasers. But he was beginning to realizing, as he felt his inhibitions drop, that it had been a while since he'd had the luxury of alcohol. Clearly his tolerance had declined significantly.

"So. August. Is that your real name?" the woman asked with a sly smile. August cleared his throat obviously.

"Why would you think it's not?"

"Because when I asked what your name was, you hesitated before you said it," she replied. Man, this chick was sharp. August took another drink from his beer to avoid answering the question. "Hey, look, I get it, you don't have to tell me your real name if you don't want to. I mean, we're complete strangers."

"If I told you my real name, you wouldn't believe me," August told her.

"You never know until you give it a shot," she said with a smile. "I might surprise you."

August raised his eyebrows at her, then took another swig of his drink. He felt the bubbles and the ale loosening his inhibitions.

"My real name," he said, taking a deep breath, "is Pinocchio."

To his surprise, the woman did not laugh. In fact, her intrigue seemed to double as she blinked at him, completely non-phased.

"Your parents named you Pinocchio? After the cartoon character?"

Neal laughed.

"Sure," he said, "let's go with that."

"Or we could go with the truth," she insisted stubbornly. August considered for a moment.

"Have you ever seen the movie 'Top Gun'?" he asked.

"Are you saying that I can't handle the truth?"

"You beat me to my own punch line," he said, pointing a finger sloppily in her face before finishing off his beer. The woman next to him signaled for another round.

"This truth I can't handle," she toyed, a sly smirk on her face. "It wouldn't perchance require a belief in magic would it?"

August blinked at her, his jaw all but dropping. Her grin widened.

"Because I might just have such a belief stashed away somewhere."

* * *

The man in their booth took a large swig from his bottle. Then he shook his head.

"What the hell," he hiccoughed. "Maybe you guys will be young enough to buy this story."

He cleared his throat while Neal leaned forward. Emma seemed highly amused, but Neal was taking this very seriously now.

"Just after my mother died, my father took me on a camping trip in Maine. To try and help me forget, and help us bond. Then, all of a sudden, there was a huge storm, came out of nowhere."

"Is that how your father died?" Emma asked.

"No, the storm went as quickly as it came, and we were both fine, the only issue was that it had damaged our car. Luckily just over the hill there was apparently a little town. I didn't remember seeing it when we were hiking, but there it was so we decided to go and see if we could find a mechanic and a place to stay. But then..."

"When was this?" Neal interrupted. Emma looked at him again and was surprised to see how seriously he was taking this story.

"It must be... almost fifteen years ago now... but wait for it, I haven't even gotten started..."

* * *

"So they're all stuck somewhere in this world, cursed for all eternity?"

August couldn't believe he was saying all of this. What's more, he couldn't believe that the woman in front of him was not only not scoffing in disbelief, but actively engaging with the details of the story, asking questions and clarification, as if she actually believed him.

"Well, hopefully not for all eternity," he shrugged warily as he finished his beer. "But - well, we're working on that."

The woman shifted in her seat, leaning still closer.

"What do you mean?"

"Before the curse there was a prophesy about a savior. Snow White was pregnant at the time..."

"Pregnant?"

"... and the Dark One prophesied that only the child could save the people in the kingdom, but only if she was protected from the curse. So they found a way to send her here as an infant, with me, and it was my job to look after her and take care of her and make sure she knew what she had to do, but I kind of failed at that. But we're back on track now. Found Snow's daughter and everything..."

August nodded towards Emma and Neal now conversing with a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. Something about tonight, August thought to himself. Lots of interesting people around the bar to talk to, apparently. the woman's eyes flickered over to the group, resting first on the older man for a moment before lingering on the blonde girl.

"Now we just have to figure out where..."

Neal halted mid-sentence, his silence causing the woman next to him to break her start from Emma and look at him.

"I'm rambling," he realized sheepishly. "You probably think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy at all," she replied, placing her hadn over his on the bar.

"Really?"

"Really."

"How can that be?" August implored her.

"I always knew there was something more than our world," she said genuinely. "I always believe that there had to be something else out there, even if I didn't know what it was. I mean, this can't be all there is."

August smiled. He had only experienced such blind, imaginative faith in small children in this world, and not even often there, considering most of the children he had known throughout his life had had their innocence stripped from them way too early.

"Whose the guy," the woman asked, her glance sidling back over to the trio in the booth.

"Ever heard of Rumpelstiltskin?"

"The guy who could spin straw into gold?"

"Among other things," August sighed into his glass. "That's his son."

The woman's distracted eyes caught August's again, her eyebrows raised in surprise. August just chuckled and nodded. The woman turned back to look at the three.

"Well, he seems to want a word with you," she noted. August turned to look. Neal had vacated the booth and was on his way to the bar, determination set into his face.

"I need to talk to you," Neal said abruptly when he reached the pair. "Now. It's urgent."

"Neal, this is my new friend..." August introduced, pausing. "You know, I've forgotten your name."

"I never it gave it," the woman replied, but Neal wasn't paying attention.

"A pleasure," he said, not even looking in her direction. "Come with me," he said to August, taking him by his hand and leading him towards the men's room.

"It was nice meeting you...?" August called over his shoulder as he placed his empty beer glass back down the bar, towed along by his younger friend.

"Tamara," she called back with a smile. "My name is Tamara."


	7. Chapter 7

"Neal, what on earth...?" August protested as the bathroom door swung shut behind them, but Neal didn't stop until the two of them were packed tightly side-by-side in one of the stalls.

"I know where they are," he began abruptly.

"Who?"

"Our parents. Her parents, your father and mine, the queen, everyone."

"What?" August asked, his eyes growing wide as he struggled to keep his voice low. "Where?"

"They're in a town in Maine called Storybrooke," Neal started. August raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Storybrooke? Seriously?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I swear to you it's true."

"Who told you this?"

"This guy out of nowhere just up and sits down at our booth and starts telling us about when he was a kid and he and his dad wandered into this little town and everything was just a bit strange, but he didn't think anything about it until his father walked in the major, named Regina-" he said pointedly, met by a gasp from August, "-talking to a human heart that was glowing in her hand."

August's jaw dropped, terrified and elated at the same time.

"That sounds like the queen," he affirmed.

"The man said that he had escaped but his father was captured by the mayor and when he brought the police back to the town line, there was nothing there. He couldn't find it again."

"Did he say when all this happened?"

"He said almost fifteen years ago," Neal whispered.

August rubbed his face in his hands, taking it all in.

"This is it," he muttered. "What we've been trying to find out. Where they were all sent by the curse. He and his father must have been in the spot where they all appeared." He looked up sharply at Neal. "Where is this guy? Why are we in here? We have to find him and get more information, learn everything..."

August already had his hand on the latch of the stall door, but before he had opened it, they heard the door to the bathroom at large open and a pair of harried voices wafted in. Neal grabbed August's arm and the pair froze instantly, listening intently.

"... the men's room!" a familiar male voice was protesting. Neal quietly nudged August and mouthed, _That's him. _"You can't be in here."

"I don't want to be overheard," came a female voice. Again Neal tapped August on the arm and silently raised his eyebrows, asking him to confirm the identity of the voice as the woman he had been talking to at the bar, which he did with a curt nod before pressing his ear further against the stall door.

"What's this about?" the man asked.

"We've found her."

"Who?"

"The link," the woman replied eagerly, "between our world and the magical one. She's here. In the bar."

"Wait a minute," the man said. "She?"

"What?" asked the woman, a tone of offense in her voice. "Surprised?"

"A little."

"What's it matter? She's the link, and you know what that means. If we destroy her, then no one can ever cross between the lands ever again."

Neal and August caught each other's eyes in silent horror.

"I believe you've already met her, actually," the woman continued. "It seems you found a couple of friends over there in that booth?"

"The blonde girl?" the man stammered. "She just a child! She can't be older than fourteen."

"Well she won't live to be fifteen," the woman purred, the trace of a cold smile in her voice. Neal swallowed hard and tried to keep from squirming at the threat. Space was tight inside the stall and if he moved, he might upset the balance he and August had and send them both toppling out into the room with the two plotters.

"That's not..." the man began, but the woman cut him off.

"Not what?" she challenged. "Not right? None of this is right, Greg. Not what happened to your father, not what happened to my grandmother..."

"We got justice for that," the man interjected.

"And we'll get justice for you too, and for everyone who has ever suffered the way we have at the hands of magic and the evil it brings. We won't stop until it's no longer a threat to anyone in this world. We won't stop until we've set things right. It's just one girl, and once she's dead, that's one world less to worry about. One world completely closed off, with no possibility of coming or going ever again."

"What about the magic that has already crossed over?" the man asked. "Like that witch who abducted my father?"

"We can deal with them once they are trapped here, after we get rid of the link. If we kill her, then there will be no way for them to return to land they came from, and then it's just a matter of tracking them all down."

"Which we haven't been able to do yet," the man reminded her heatedly. "We don't even have a lead. Maybe this girl could be the lead we're looking for. We take her, use her to find the town again, I'm sure she'd be able to see it."

"What, she's just going to betray her family's position to us?" the woman chided. "She won't help us."

"We will _make_ her help us," the man threatened savagely.

"She doesn't know anything."

Neal didn't know what made him say it, except that the threat seemed too genuine for his comfort. He had never been much good at holding back and remaining quiet, especially when those he cared about were being attacked. The conversation between the pair froze at the sound of an additional voice in the room as August unlatched the door and the two of them stepped out of the stall.

For a moment, no one moved. They stood, eyeing each other's position. Tamara and Greg stood at the sinks, Neal and August by the stalls, each equi-distant from the bathroom door. Each pair was sizing up who would get there first in a dash.

"She doesn't know about any of it," Neal pleaded with them. "She doesn't know where she came from or how to get there. She doesn't even know she wasn't born in this world. She's completely innocent, and has absolutely no value to you, so you can just leave her out of it."

"If you've been listening from in there as long as it seems, then you know for a fact that's not true," Tamara said, grinning.

The bathroom burst into action. Neal darted for the door just as Tamara did. Greg made to tackle him, but August put himself between the two and was subsequently rammed into one of the stalls behind him violently. He swung a punch into the man's face.

"Get her out of here, Neal," he puffed. Neal did not need telling twice. He was younger and lither and not wearing high heels, so he reached the exit first and swung the door open forcefully so it collided with Tamara's face behind him. From across the bar, he saw Emma look up quizzically from her soda at the commotion.

"Come on, we gotta go, we gotta go!" he was calling to her evening before he had reached her and she gathered her blanket, her rucksack and his in one swoop of her arm just as he came barreling by the table, not stopping as he took hold of her hand and dragged her urgently behind him.

His side tour by the booth had cost him his advantage, and already Tamara was standing at the ready in front of the door to the pub, cutting off their escape. Neal took a step back, bumping into a bewildered Emma behind him. Other customers were watching now, though most of them seemed too hammered to think the action was anything but amusing. Neal's eyes darted this way and that, seeking another exit.

"We can't just leave August," Emma protested in a whisper as the woman took a step towards them. The muffled sounds of the scuffle in the mens room could be faintly heard.

"He can handle himself," Neal argued. It wasn't August's life the pair had threatened. He needed to get Emma out. But just at that moment they heard a concerning sound of something breaking from the bathroom and a definite, however muffled, scream from their friend.

"Neal," Emma insisted. Neal tensed as Tamara took another step closer, the whole of the bar's attention now on the bathroom. The bartender seemed less than amused as he went to break up what he imagined was another drunken brawl. The only eyes that hadn't wandered over that way were Tamara's and Neal's, whose stayed locked on each other. As Tamara took another cautious step forward.

"Fine, come on," Neal whispered, dashing towards the bathroom, her hand still in his just as Tamara made a pounce to where they had been standing. Perhaps there would be a way to escape from there. At least then it would be three on two, although the two were fully grown adults. Neal and Emma spilled some drinks on their way, but did not look back as they burst through the bathroom door.

One of the stall doors was completely bashed in, while across the room a broken mirror hung unhinged above an equally broken sink whose faucet was spouting water. August looked the worse for wear, but seemed to be winning at the moment, with Greg's head in a choke hold as the pair entered.

"We're not really moving in the right direction," August panted as Tamara nudged her way around the bartender, now throwing admonishing comments through the doorway, and closed it in his face, locking it from inside. At the distraction, Greg sprung backwards, crashing August harshly into the tiled wall.

"The window," Neal grunted, but Emma was already two steps ahead of him. At the opposite end of the room, she hurdled herself and grabbed hold of a pipe running along the ceiling, swinging her legs in front of her and breaking the pane of the window that sat at the top of the room. She slid through it easily with her momentum and turned to the other two.

"Come on!" she prodded urgently.

Neal had sprung forward and together they were able to pry Greg off of August. While they were distracted, Tamara had started for the window herself, a greedy, almost hungry glint in her eye. Just in time, Neal caught her by the wrist and swung her around so that she collided painfully with one of the bathroom stalls. August stood braced below the window.

"Neal, come on, let's go!" he called, and without needing to be told twice, Neal pressed his sneaker into August's foothold and August hoisted him through the window. Emma caught him on the other end and helped to drag him through. Once he was over the threshold, without so much as a word to each other, Emma dove her upper half back through the broken glass, Neal grabbing the ends of her feet to support her.

In the moments it had taken Neal to sliver through, Greg and Tamara had both recovered from their reeling and were advancing again. Luckily Greg lunged first, and having had quite a lot to drink, he was not difficult to avoid. August dodged him and he went crashing into the wall beside him just as Emma caught hold of August's arm.

"Pull!" she called to Neal behind her, and the two of the hoisted August through the frame. Only his head was through when they met resistance and he began to slide back into the restroom. Behind him through the broken pane, Emma could see Tamara had caught his ankle firmly and was tugging hard.

"August!" Emma squealed, clutching him tighter to stop him from sliding through. August swiveled to face Tamara. For a split second, Neal thought he was going to let go to give them a chance to escape. He tightened his grip. But instead, August thrust a well-aimed kick at the woman's face, and Tamara fell backwards with a cry of pain, releasing his leg.

Emma and Neal heaved him through the open window frame, and without taking any time to gather their breath, the trio darted off into the back alleyway, Neal having taken Emma's hand protectively again. Behind them, they could hear the woman screaming, "they're in the alleyway, go around, cut them off."

"Up here," August suggested, squatting to boost Emma and then Neal up to a low-hanging fire escape. Together they heaved him up as well at they all began to climb the steps three at a time.

"Here," Neal suggested as they passed the window of a floor that looked completely abandoned. Emma flicked out a pin from her hair and in mere moments had the window open. August climbed in, then Neal insisted Emma follow before he brought up the rear.

They appeared to have entered the sitting room of an unoccupied apartment. There was no furniture, and it was completely dark. August led them to another room away from the window, Neal still squeezing Emma's hand in his as if her life depended on not breaking the connection. Once in another room, they each slid to the ground. They sat with their backs against the wall in long moments of dark silence, trying to stifle the sounds of their breath as it fogged in front of their faces.

"Stay here," Neal warned, leaning forward and crouching. "We'll make sure the coast is clear."

"What the hell is going on," Emma protested.

"Just stay here," Neal insisted without further explanation, creeping back into the first room and peering out the edge of the window with August right behind him. The alleyway was clear. August breathed a sigh of relief. Neal's eyes narrowed.

"We leave tonight," he said with conviction.

"Neal, we have to think this through."

"Did you not hear them in there!" he challenged aggressively. "They want to kill her."

"I believe they actually decided against that," August reminded him, though the reason why was no consolation. "In favor of using her."

"Well, they can't have her!" Neal hissed, but before the conversation between the two could continue, a third voice entered the foray.

"I knew it." The pair turned to its source. Emma stood looking at them from the doorframe, her face set and furious. "I knew it was too good to be true to think there would be anybody in this world that would care about me without wanting something in return."

"Emma, it's not like that," Neal protested, stepping forward, but her vicious recoil halted him.

"Isn't it?" she challenged, her eyes blazing, and Neal's stomach dropped to see the betrayal she felt reflected in them. "It's clear I have some kind of value to you two, and apparently to those two fools down there, that I'm not aware of. All this time I think we're just looking out for each other, doing what, I don't know, maybe a family would do if any of us had one of those. I should have known there was an ulterior motive all along."

"There's no ulterior motive," August said.

"Just what is it that you want with me?" she questioned. "What value do I have to you?"

"Emma, if you'll just let us explain," Neal begged, taking another step closer, his hand held out gently as if he were approaching a wounded animal, which was what Emma looked like right about now.

"No, you know what, I don't care," she decided, sliding another step backwards to keep her distance between her and the advancing boys. "I don't know what it is you guys want me for, but I can tell you one thing. I don't belong to anyone. I'm my own person."

"We know that, Emma," August consoled. "Please, just listen to what we have to say."

"Don't bother," she spat. "I can't trust anything either of you say, that much is clear. I'm out. Nice knowing you."

She turned to leave.

"We know where your parents are," Neal called out desperately towards her turned back.

Emma halted in her stride as August turned to face Neal, surprised at the boldness of his admission. A strong silence hung in the dark night between the three as Emma slowly swiveled, her eyes finding Neal's. He shot August a sideways glance.

"We have to tell her," he said. "She deserves to know."

"Know what?" Emma prodded darkly.

Neal kept August's gaze, waiting for his ok before he continued telling the truth. For a moment, August paused. Then, he nodded his consent. Neal turned to Emma, who was watching him warily. He took a deep breath.

"Have you ever heard of Snow White?"


	8. Chapter 8

"That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard."

Neal, with August's help, had taken point in relaying the story. The true story. Perhaps it should have been the other way around, but August was glad to take the back seat, as his role in the tale was less than honorable. He felt his own shame radiate heatedly from him, even as Neal skated by his most dreadful of transgressions with little-to-no mention, for which he was grateful.

"I swear to God, Emma, it's the truth," August pleaded. "I was there when he curse hit, I saw it."

"You know we're not lying," Neal challenged her. "You can tell."

"Then you're both mentally insane," she accused.

"I know it seems that way."

"Your parents are out there, Emma," Neal offered, "and they need you."

"My parents didn't want me!" Emma exploded, for the first time her voice breaking from it's harsh furry and fading to the true devastation inside her.

"Yes, they did!" Neal said back, troubled by the statement. "They do! They are waiting for you to find them..."

"No, they're not!" Emma cried, tears piercing her eyes. "They left me. They abandoned me on the side of the road. They don't love me, and they never did, and I don't know what I ever did to them, but that's the truth, and it's the only truth."

Silence followed her statement as Neal regarded her, completely at a loss. He bit back his own frustration. They had waited too long. She had already lost hope. Perhaps she had lost it a long time ago. Neal had never heard it put so straightforwardly. What she must have believed her whole life. Why should she have believed any different? But now, he was coming to her telling her it wasn't true. Why wasn't she jumping on the possibility that their might be another explanation to why she grew up alone?

"Why is it so hard for you to believe?" he asked, his quiet voice breaking with desperation and grief.

"I'm done with this," she said, emotion once again out of her voice as she swung her bag over her shoulder and turned to leave. "I'm done with you."

Neal's heart sank as he watched her walk away. Hop through the open window and disappear up the fire escape. He wanted to call out to her, but there wasn't anything left to say. He had told her the truth. All of it. And she hadn't believed.

"Let me talk to her."

Neal looked up. August was already halfway across the abandoned room.

"What are you going to...?"

"I'll be right back," was all he said, already halfway out the window.

He found her on the roof of the building they had scaled, on the opposite edge of the fire escape, facing down to the main street. She sat at the edge, her feet dangling over as she crossed her arms over herself against the cold. August approached cautiously, until he knew she must be aware of his presence, but she didn't say anything, so gently he lowered himself until he was sitting next to her. For a long time they sat in silence, August looking out on the city landscape. He took a breath.

"I held you the day you were born," August started. He wasn't sure how to do this, how convince her that she was the savior, born a world away to a cursed Prince and Princess, how to console and comfort her in her most confusing and premature hour, so he decided to just get right down to the truth. "My father put me through the portal to save me first. He never told your parents the wardrobe could carry two. They thought that because you were born early you would have to go through alone, and instead of tell them the truth, my father chose to save me from the curse. Even then, I knew better. I should have stopped him, not let him put me in the wardrobe, but I was young and terrified and he was my father. I ended up in the woods, and not moments later you came along, brand new and squealing, wrapped in that white blanket…"

"I told you, I was found by the side of the highway," Emma corrected him darkly, not meeting his eyes. "Not in the middle of the woods."

"By a five year old boy," August noted looking at her sideways. "Who had a harder time trekking through the woods to find the highway than he had coming up with the lie about where he found you."

Emma still would not look him in the eye.

"Look at me, Emma."

At first she seemed as if she was going to refuse his request, but eventually she deigned to squint in his direction. His eyes were wide and pleading.

"Am I lying to you?"

Emma studied his face, the hardness in hers fading ever-so slightly.

"Just because you believe what you are saying doesn't make it true," she murmured, but the ice was beginning to thaw, and August could see it.

"I was with you in the first home they brought us to in Augusta. My father charged me with staying by your side and helping you to fulfill your destiny, to come and save everyone when the time came. But I failed. I failed him and I failed you, Emma. I ran away from the home with a group of kids not three weeks after arriving. I was angry and young and terrified and I left you all alone. And it has haunted me ever since."

It was Emma's turn to look at August's face as he stared guiltily into the distance in front of him, wringing his hands. The true pain and remorse Emma saw there startled her, and her harsh visage slackened still further.

"I was your family," he continued, his voice struggling not to break as the guilt of the memory wafted over him. "I was all you had, and I should have been there for you. But instead, I betrayed and abandoned you to grow up in this world alone, with no one."

Beyond the buildings, Emma could see the corner of the art museum illuminated in the evening darkness.

"You have no idea how sorry I am for that, Emma," he said, sniffing subtly. "How much I wish I could go back and make a different decision. They caught all of us, of course, and we were back in the system, but even then I didn't come looking for you. I was too cowardly. I couldn't even take care of myself, let alone you. I even tried to convince myself that I was crazy, that I had never lived in that other world and it had all been a dream and I had always been a boy in the system here. That you were nothing special and I didn't owe you anything. But of course, I never was able to convince myself, because I remembered everything. I may have only been five years old, but I remembered my father, and he was kind and warm and he loved me so much."

Emma was shocked to see a tear trickle down the silhouette of August's cheek, and then another.

"Even when I stopped denying my true past, I still didn't come looking for you. Not right away. I thought it was too late. I couldn't convince you anymore, it was too late and you wouldn't believe me. And honestly, it would mean facing what I had done to you, which I was too much of a coward to do. And then I met Neal."

Emma turned away and pressed her eyelids tightly shut. She didn't want to know Neal's involvement in all of this. Somehow, his dishonesty felt like a stronger betrayal to her. August turned to face her at her reaction.

"He wasn't there, Emma, for any of this," he told her. "He was far off in some other land until just a year ago. He came from our world, yes, but he didn't come through with us. He came through years before and has been to other worlds besides this one as well. He didn't abandon you like I did, Emma, I promise you. He never knew you existed until he and I finally discovered our shared past home and I told him about all this. About the curse, and about you. We found out where you lived through the records of Child Services and from the moment he met you, he has been entirely devoted to getting you back to your family. He's as good as they come, Emma, and his completely on your side. He's never left you. Not once. Not like I did."

Emma sniffed and squinted up at the lights of the skyline, trying to hide the fact that she felt tears rising from somewhere behind her eyes.

"He wanted to tell you right away. About the curse and your destiny. I convinced him not too. I wanted to wait until we had more to go off of, until we had more proof and more of your trust. I didn't think you would believe, and I was terrified of that because that was the one thing my father charged me with doing before he sent me through the portal. I was supposed to make you believe. And if I failed at that, then I knew there would be no hope."

Emma blinked at him. She didn't think she had ever heard him sound so genuine. He caught her eyes and kept her gaze.

"But believe or not, Emma, this is real. It's the truth, and you are our only hope. It has to be you. It is your destiny, it's what you were born for. You're special…"

"I'm not special," Emma rejected.

"You _are,_ Emma," August insisted. "Deep down you must have known that…"

"How?" Emma challenged, looking up at him fiercely. "How was I supposed to know? When my first family sent me away because they wanted to have kids of their own, was that when I was supposed to realize I was special? When my foster mother stuffed me in a basement with thirteen other foster children so she could eat off of the support payments? Was that supposed to make me feel special? When Roger was breaking a glass bottle over my head, was I supposed to think, well, he wouldn't be doing this unless I was some special, miraculous savior from another world…"

Emma knew she was going to far. The shame that spread over August's face as she recounted her memories should have quelled her, but her anger persisted.

"I'm your only hope? Where was my hope? Where was I supposed to get it from?"

"I don't know," August whispered, hanging his head between his knees. Emma let up then. She watched him in silence as he wouldn't look her in the eye. She knew what it was like to have strong regrets. Somehow her anger subsided and she was able to feel the fear that was underneath it. Fear of what, she wondered?

"I have parents?"

August looked up at her. She definitely looked the fourteen years she was. Just a girl, really. A girl who had been through so much, but a girl nonetheless. Her voice was small and hopeful and trembling and vulnerable all at the same time.

"Yes," he breathed.

"And… they really did want me?"

"More than anything."

"I don't want to believe you."

That took August aback.

"Why?"

"Because it's all I ever wanted, and I never thought I'd get it," Emma sniffed. "Not for real. I'm afraid it's too good to be true. It's too easy."

"I assure you, it will be anything but easy," August said with an ironic laugh. "We've got miles to go, a curse to break, and an evil sorceress to defeat. I'm not offering you a happy ending. Those don't exist here, I know that. All I'm offering you is the truth. It's years late, but there it is. What you do with it is up to you. And whatever you choose to do with it, we will support you. Neal and I both. Because we are your family, and whether or not you want to believe it, we love you, Emma."

When they returned to the abandoned apartment, the found Neal sitting in the second room where they had all hid before, his back against the wall, staring forward with a hard expression in his eyes. Emma settled herself next to him, August on the other side, and she looked up at him expectantly.

"So fairytales are real?" she prodded, her voice difficult to read.

"In a manner of speaking yes," Neal said, avoiding her gaze.

"And we're all a part of the stories I learned growing up?"

"That's about the gist of it."Neal still would not look her in the eye. He didn't want to see the disbelief staring back at him. It was too painful.

"So that makes the three of us… what? The three musketeers?"

Neal looked up into her eyes and saw she was smiling hopefully. She believed. She was confused, she was scared, she was hurt, but she believed. He grinned back at her, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Sure," he said, feeling a warmth spread through him as he accepted the title. "Why not? We're the three musketeers."

"The three musketeers," August agreed, raising the flask he kept in his breast pocket at the initiation. He took a swig, then passed it to Neal, then Emma, who each took a swig in turn before settling into a comfortable silence.

Neal felt a twinge of something he hadn't felt in hundreds of years. Something he knew had been growing steadily since his return to this world, but he hadn't allowed himself to recognize until it had just been solidified this very night. He looked up, first at Emma, then at August, then back at Emma, and found himself surrounded by family.

_I have a family again_, he thought to himself. _I'd almost forgotten why that's worth fighting for._

* * *

**Disclaimer: I know August was 7 in the show when he went through the portal. I made him 5 in this version because it seemed less creepy to have an 18-year-old be friends with a 15-year-old and a 13-year-old than a 20-year-old to be. Wanted to keep things consistent, even if it is just within the scope of this story.**


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